


Violet Rain

by TheJollyPiplup



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Atlas - Freeform, Cults, Fix-It of Sorts, Multi, Post-Canon, Various acts of Crime, post-s8, will update as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 14:18:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18740770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheJollyPiplup/pseuds/TheJollyPiplup
Summary: Two years after saving the universe, most of the defenders of the universe have gone on to achieve their own dreams and ambitions, making themselves heroes of legends for the rest of history. But Romelle? She's working as a chef, has no friends of her own, and despite helping to turn the galaxy on its head, is still as lonely as she was back on the colonies. But when she's abducted by a terrorist group known as Violet Rain, dedicated to seeking justice for Lotor after his untimely death, they give her an offer: help them gather information from various government facilities for the resurrection of her dead brother, Bandor.Its an offer she can't possibly refuse, no matter what it costs.(otherwise known as: Romelle joins a cult)





	Violet Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: Yeah…..I’m back again…..after another year…….:’D  
> I’m going to be completely honest, I M I G H T continue my other two works if they’re shown significant interest - probably Witch Cops more than World Ends, mostly because despite recent events, I’m still more invested in V:LD than any of my older interests. If I continue this, though, it might take a while due to personal shenanigans. Nevertheless, I’ll try to continue with this one, either due to my desire to cope with, again, recent events, or to just get back in the habit of putting decent fic back on the web.

Space is enormous, when you really start to think about it. If you were to stare out a window, and gaze even for just a tick, you would likely find roughly a thousand stars and millions of planets, going in all sorts of directions 

 

Though If you were to look at a star chart, hanging from the wall of a ship, the sprawling abyss of glittering suns and solar bodies start to look less vast, and a voyage through the great void of space suddenly turns into a simple two-quintant trip through a few galaxies. Staring at a map full of information, describing where the nearest quadrant is located or the cost in GAC to fly out to Kythra starts to dull the beauty of space. Luckily, turning your head slightly to the right will bring you back to a window nearly ten-times as large as yourself, so that you can stare in an awesome fright at the millions of galaxies and planets soaring past you, a few hundred of them full of life unique to its own soil. Such as that red dwarf, barely visible in the distance - how many planets does it have? Who lives on their soil? Or that brown dwarf, below it, which is even harder to make out - what stories does it hold?

 

Wait…..that might just be a fingerprint….

 

“ _ Ding Ding! _ ”

 

The sound of the order bell shook Romelle out of her trance, forcing her attention to the front of the  _ Atlas’s  _ bustling kitchen. Looking up from the commotion of various lifeforms working around, she saw an order of razzberry juniberry cake materialize onto the digital “Pending Orders” screen, with her name being filled in at the end of the ticket like a sudden afterthought.  _ Quizacker,  _ she thought,  _ It’s time for the final course.  _

 

Hastily sitting up from the windowsill, Romelle sped over to the Dessert Counter, where various appliances began to fire up. It didn’t take her long to locate the ingredients for the pastry - during the appetizer course for the  _ Banquet of Beginnings _ , an annual diplomatic banquet held to introduce new members to the Universal Galactic Alliance, she had spent thirty dobashes re-organizing her ingredients by name and use (an ordeal that takes an eternity when your ingredients are labeled in three different languages - she had to resort to sorting a few based just on their scent.)  Now, however, it seemed like the annual banquet was coming to a close, and as such, ready for dessert. A chorus of “Dings” seemed to accompany Romelle as she mixed the juniberry fruit into the batter. By the time Romelle was finished putting the cake into the fission oven, five more orders had appeared under her name. Washing the pink batter off of her hands, she let out a sigh and adjusted her apron and gloves. 

 

Yep - it looked like tonight was going to be especially gruesome.

 

Within minutes, Romelle was juggling with three different orders, bits and pieces of food flying across the counter. When the cake was finally cooled and ready to be iced, she almost let out an audible sigh - most of the orders were for the cake, and within dobashes, it was iced, cut, and sent out into the main banquet hall, filling the orders of eight of her fifteen pending orders.  _ Well, at least I’ve filled more than half, right? _

 

Luckily, five of her next orders were orders of Mountain Puffs - an Altean pastry that was recently added to the ships menu, filled with a mix of sauteed fruits and egg washed so that the top of the confection would be raised and bumpy, like a mountain range. It didn’t take long to create a fluffy dough, and soon the puffs were washed and deposited into the oven - and after a few more rounds of pastry making, Romelle soon found a rhythm, flowing from the mixing bowl, to the oven, and back to the counter to decorate and ice her creations. 

 

But for the next few dobashes, as she dusted the Mountains with some sort of light, fluffy Earthen sugar, Romelle noticed something odd about the sweets. While each of them looked unique at a first glance, all of the peaks only had four swirls of icing, decorated so that the tops of their mountains looked as if they were covered in snow. To virtually anyone else, this wouldn’t look odd at all. But Romelle looked at the puffs in awe, as she suddenly realized why the icing pattern seemed so strange.

 

It was the same, signature pattern her father had used in his own signature Mountain Puffs, back when he and her mom worked in a small bakery near the capital.

 

_ “This peak is Daddy, and this one is Mommy,” spoke her father, as Romelle struggled to look over the counter while standing on his legs, wobbling as she stood. _

 

_ The bakery had not been busy that day, so only her mother stood at the till in front of the store. Bandor was sleeping away in his crib upstairs, where the family’s flat was located. Pointing at another one of the freshly baked puff’s peaks, Romelle’s father asked her, “now, who’s this?” _

 

_ Thinking hard for a moment, the toddler pointed at the peak and announced “D-Dis peak is…Ban...a-an dis one is ‘Melly!”  _

 

_ Chuckling softly, her father held her tight and kissed her on the cheek. “That’s right, ‘Melly!” her father proclaimed, “you are so smart!”  _

 

_ Giggling, Romelle turned and hugged her father tightly, feeling so, so proud of herself, as any good six deca-phoebe old would. _

 

By the time she shook herself out of her own trance, Romelle could smell the fruit sautee burning in its pan. “Quizacker,” she mumbled to herself, as she dumped the burnt fruit into some plastic containers (while it's overcooked to be used in a pastry, there’s nothing wrong with saving it for a late-night snack...) and began to create a new batch. Within dobashes, a new pan of fruit had been cooked up, and ready for not only the first group of puffs, but a second fresh baked round as well. 

 

This time, she didn’t ice the pastries at all.

 

-

 

Soon, dessert orders began to slow down, as the tables full of diplomats were finally satiated. Only a handful of orders remained, though, when Romelle noticed that the only sound she could hear in the normally clamoring kitchen was the sizzling of her ganache, and the faint audio of a nearby vidscreen. Even Hunk was quiet, and as the main chef of the ship on an occasion as busy as the banquet, he just...wouldn’t  _ do  _ that.

 

Turning off her oven, Romelle glanced over at the rest of the kitchen to see where the rest of the kitchen’s chefs had gone off to. As it turned out, they were all still in the kitchen - just gazing intently on a vidscreen stashed in a corner of the room, as silent as the dead. Even though she still had orders to prepare, Romelle, made her way closer to the screen to see what everyone was listening to. From a distance, she could tell that the screen had been switched to a news channel - one that appeared to be from Earth, if the anchorwoman could be of any indication. Weaving her way through a pair of Balmerans, she focused at the screen while her optical translators began to rearrange the Earthen sprawl of text into Altean. When the screen had been translated though, the young girl struggled to suppress a gasp. 

 

**_BREAKING NEWS: GALAXY GARRISON RANSACKED BY TERRORISTS!_ **

 

After being shushed by one of the Olkari chefs, Romelle started to pick up on some of the anchorwoman’s commentary 

 

“... _ As of now, there are no suspected casualties or major injuries. However, the school’s director Admiral Iverson and Director of Engineering, Paladin Holt, have reported that the assailants have abducted numerous documents and equipment, though the stolen items appear to be mostly unrelated and have yet to give us an estimate of the group’s motive or next move. After analyzing the technology used by the burglars, as well as the style of their bodysuits, intergalactic law enforcement have confirmed an attack lead by the rising terrorist group known as Violet Rain, which we reported on back in March in regards to their “Justice for  the Colonies” rally last month, which had to be subdued by local authorities. I’m Sakura Marcus, an…” _

 

Romelle’s shock was interrupted by an audible sigh from her right. Shaking his head in disbelief, Hunk continued to stare at the screen, despite it having since switched to commercials, and muttering softly under his breath, “...This is messed up…” Slowly, though, all of the chefs and cooks walked back to their stations, silently returning to their work. The whole newscast was replaying over and over again in the minds of the chefs, though, including Romelle as she reheated the ganache and frosted the last of the night’s orders.

 

-

 

The banquet, to no one’s surprise, was a hit, and all of the ambassadors and diplomats were pleased. The kitchen staff was just as pleased with the night, and aside from a few fleeting conversations about the Violet Rain attack, most of the chef's spirits remained undiminished. Romelle went into the kitchen storage closet to put away her things, but for the first time that night, she noticed her apron. Despite her attempts at keeping it clean, it was still coated in enough chocolate and cream that it would likely qualify as a dessert on its own. Sighing, she decided to hang her apron in the closet as it was, knowing fully well that she was going to be furious at herself the next morning. As humans tend to say,  _ Oh well. _

 

The main lifts of the  _ Atlas _ were stuffed to the brim, full of a variety of interplanetary leaders, military personnel and their trainees, and even a few tourists and general passengers who were lucky enough to get a room at the ship’s commercial floors. Thankfully, though, Romelle had access to the ship’s staff lifts, and got on a pod going to the long-term residential decks.

 

To her right was a few Balmerans and another Altean, along with one of Hunk’s friends, Shay. The group seemed to be eagerly talking about some party going on in one of the other chef’s lofts. Even after the news about the terrorists, none of them seemed to be upset. Meanwhile, Romelle’s own phone seemed to continuously buzz with new articles and interviews about the break-in at the Garrison, further reminding her that even though the Galra have been all but wiped out of the universe, their evil still lingered, even after death. Eventually, the pod slowed to a halt, and both Romelle and the partygoers got off.

 

Romelle trailed behind the group as they all slowly meandered to their destination, waiting for them to turn off onto another hallway so that she can finally walk at a normal pace. However, the group didn’t seem to be turning anywhere, and by the time they finally did come to a halt, it was right in front of Romelle’s door. Glancing at the partygoers, she watched as they knocked on the door directly across the hall and saw Hunk swing open the door, showing her a view of an impressive, ship-wide party, full of Humans, Alteans, Okari, and even  _ Galra. _ And it was all raging on right across from Romelle’s room. A loud party. Going on all night. Right across the hall from her loft.

 

_ Quizacker. _

 

Just as she started to brainstorm different methods of soundproofing her room, Hunk called out to Romelle, finally noticing her now that his guests had all gone inside. 

 

“Oh hey, Romelle! You’re back!” The human stepped back to let her get a better view of the chaos inside. “Want to join us? We just refilled our nunvil and our party snacks!~” He pointed towards a snack table, where a Galra and a Human could be seen in an arm wrestling match. 

 

Out of all the things she felt like doing that night, sitting in the middle of a crowded loft surrounded by beings she hardly knew, as they all got drunk on nunvil and gossiped about heavens-knows-what was not one of them. But before she could tell all of that to Hunk - one of the few beings she could honestly say that she liked - Romelle stopped and took a deep breath.  _ The Ward,  _ she thought,  _ Remember The State Ward - “Don’t be a nuisance to others, Romelle. Be kind!” _

 

The fact that she could recite the Dayak’s lesson so well almost made her vomit in her mouth. 

 

Turning back to Hunk, a people-pleasing smile on her face, Romelle innocently answered “Oh Hunk, that sounds nice, but I was thinking of taking a walk first - maybe in a few minutes?”

 

Chucking, Hunk seemed to accept her excuse. “Alright! See you in a few!”

 

Before he could say anything else, the young Altean hurried off into the residential lobby, where she could wait a few minutes before sneaking back into her loft. By that time, Hunk would have surely forgotten about his invite and she would be free to relax in solitude. It worked for the last three parties he had thrown - fourth time’s the charm. (She thinks that’s how the saying goes…)

 

As she sat down in a relatively isolated area, Romelle found herself letting out a sad, soft chuckle. She couldn’t help it - escaping Hunk’s invite had reminded her of the first time she discovered that little trick. When she had first become a Ward of the State, she and the other young girls would try to host quant little snack parties, dressing themselves up like the nobility of the old Altea and bringing in little pastries that they each made themselves. Going for a pretend walk had been Bandor’s favorite excuse for avoiding these parties. 

 

…

 

Romelle turned her head towards a window, towards the stars, still shining brightly. At the other end of the room, she could hear a group of Alteans laughing at a joke content in each other’s presence. Staring up at the brilliant, horrifying start field before her, Romelle sat, weighted down onto the couch by her knowledge that despite her monumental victory two decaphoebes ago, she was still as lonely as she had been at the Colony. 

 

It was this crushing though, amplified in her mind, that kept her from realizing the figure quietly approaching her from behind, making it a total surprise when said figure placed a damp rag onto her face, covering her mouth and nose, reeking of various drugs. 

 

Within seconds, Romelle had hit the couch, sufficiently knocked out by her assailant. As she succumbed to darkness, she looked at the stars, their sheer volume being her only thought as she began to dream. 


End file.
